


The Art of War

by Face_of_Poe



Series: All's Fair in Art and War [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Art Enthusiast Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Art unenthusiast Pellaeon, Gen, Killik Twilight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: Pellaeon is getting too old for this shit.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon & Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Series: All's Fair in Art and War [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095143
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	The Art of War

**Author's Note:**

> Old cracky repost from FFnet, in honor of my remembering that Thrawn is a glorious little shit.

_30 ABY - Bastion_

“Sir?”

Gilad Pellaeon’s aide trotted up to him midway through a stroll in his private garden, and the admiral sighed resignedly. Even at a time of relative peace, while the galaxy was still recovering from the traumas of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, he still seemed unable to find five minutes at a time for himself. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“There’s, ah… there’s someone here to see you, sir.”

“Might you be a trifle more specific?”

The junior officer swallowed audibly. “Ah, yes, Admiral. He’s a Chiss…”

“Oh,” Pellaeon glanced at his pocket chrono and shrugged easily. “He’s early, then. No matter, I’m free now and I don’t fancy any delegation from the Ascendancy likes to be kept waiting. Escort him to my office, would you?”

His aide looked like he wanted to say something else, but before Pellaeon could ask, he nodded quickly and hurried off. The admiral stared after him in mild bemusement for a moment before turning and heading down a different path, taking the fastest route to his office.

As he walked, he contemplated the dull monotony of life in a time without war. It was certainly preferable to the constant struggle and strife which the Empire had known only too well in recent decades; nevertheless, handling these diplomatic matters had never been his favorite task, but Chiss sensitivities left him hesitant to place his trust in any of the Moffs. They, in turn, seemed to think he had some mystical abilities at understanding that suspicious and, quite frankly, xenophobic people, due to his time under the command of-

“Grand Admiral Thrawn!”

He stopped, slack-jawed, in the doorway of his office, staring at the Chiss sitting in _his_ chair, and wondering if he’d finally gone senile or simply insane.

“Admiral Pellaeon,” the all-too-familiar smooth and cultured voice responded, gesturing to the empty seats on the opposite side of the desk. The seats for _visitors_. “Have a seat. My apologies for the sudden intrusion.”

“Ah…”

“Sit, Admiral. Please.” Pellaeon did so, motions mechanical, droid-like, wondering if it was more worthwhile to summon assistance now and risk being considered crazy and unfit for duty, or to simply let the hallucination pass. “You are not hallucinating, Gilad,” the Thrawn-specter said, lips quirked in dry amusement.

_So the ghost could read his mind. Touché, insanity. Touché._

Then again… the Imperial Navy and a number of Moffs had been tricked once into thinking Thrawn had returned, even though Pellaeon had insisted countless times that he had watched him die before his very eyes.

“Nor am I an imposter. You _did_ see me perish at the hands of Rukh, more than twenty years ago now.”

_Sweet ever-loving Force…_

“I am a clone, Gilad.”

_Oh_. _Wait, he didn’t think that before the Thrawn-ghost said it. Was it… possible?_

“A… clone?” he queried carefully. Thrawn inclined his head once, slowly. “Where have you been?”

“Assisting the first line of defense in the war effort among the Empire of the Hand and the Ascendancy. It is not important.”

“Sounds pretty important,” he muttered, torn between still contemplating his own sanity and being mildly bitter that Thrawn hadn’t returned to help _him_ in the war effort.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Sir.” He swallowed heavily. “What can I do for you?”

The Chiss looked as delighted as any Chiss _ever_ looked that he’d asked. “As a matter of fact, I came to inquire about my art collection.”

That stopped him short, though he supposed he had no place to be surprised, considering the Grand Admiral’s eccentricities all those years ago. “It’s… mostly in a museum, here in the Imperial Palace…” he responded cautiously.

“Mostly?” Thrawn returned mildly.

“Well… over the years, some pieces have been loaned out to other exhibits, a few regrettably destroyed or missing in the chaos of near-constant war…”

“And _Killik Twilight_?”

Pellaeon’s eyes widened fractionally, and he willed the panic not to set in. “I, ah… don’t have it anymore.”

“Oh? Destroyed?”

It was _so_ tempting to lie and say that it had been… but Grand Admiral Thrawn had always had the uncanny ability to read such things in others’ faces and voices…

“I gave it away.”

A steady silence descended between them, Thrawn’s purple lips pursed lightly. “You gave it away.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My fifteen million credit painting.”

Pellaeon smiled weakly. “Technically, it isn’t painting at all… sir.” Thrawn stared at him, expression unreadable. “As I understand it, one _designs_ a moss painting…” Still, the Chiss said nothing, and the admiral finally sighed and gave up, resigning himself to the slow and painful death that was sure to follow. “I gave it to Leia Organa Solo last year. It used to hang in the Royal Palace on Alderaan.”

“Leia Solo.” Pellaeon nodded. “Admiral, do you remember the days you spent in command of the _Chimaera_ twenty-two years ago, while I ventured personally onto the utterly forsaken planet of Tatooine to acquire that painting.”

“I do, sir.”

“I wonder if you remember _from whom_ I was acquiring it?”

He winced. “As I recall, it was, in fact, Leia Solo.”

“Hm.” Thrawn fell into a contemplative silence that lasted about a minute this time. Then he straightened, a new sense of resolve to his bearing. “It won’t be a problem.”

“No?”

“Of course not. I’ll simply get it back.”

Pellaeon frowned. “How, sir?”

“Intelligence suggests that the Solos have not made a permanent residence yet and are, in fact, on assorted missions for Chief of State Omas in the interests of refugee resettlement.”

“How could you know that?”

“Why, I just looked it up,” he pointed at the computer console in the left corner of Pellaeon’s desk.

He scowled. “So you already knew when you walked in here that I didn’t have it.”

Thrawn shook off the question. “As I said, it is no matter. We’ll simply ambush the _Millennium Falcon_ at their next designated assignment and-”

“Ambush!” Pellaeon cut him off, alarmed. “Admiral, we’re allies now. I _gave_ her the painting.” Thrawn stared blankly. “You can’t just hunt them down, we’re at peace. You’ll start a galactic incident.”

“You’re saying I can’t have _Killik Twilight_ back, Gilad?”

Inwardly cringing, he set his resolve and met the glowing eyes carefully. “I’m afraid so, sir.”

“Hm.” He sighed wistfully. “I am displeased, Admiral Pellaeon. Most displeased.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am going to go visit what works you haven’t squandered in my absence.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pellaeon watched him go, still not entirely positive that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. It seemed unlikely though- he didn’t think his mind could _ever_ formulate such a bizarre encounter _._ If anyone was unbalanced, it was probably the Chiss who had just left his office. They always did say that clones were a little crazy.

Or maybe it was just Thrawn.


End file.
